


Against Expectations

by Nununununu



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Affection, Captivity, Confined in a jail cell, M/M, Minor Injuries, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:42:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29695203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nununununu/pseuds/Nununununu
Summary: None of K-2's predictions had involved their incarceration turning out like this.
Relationships: Cassian Andor/K-2SO
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22
Collections: Proximity Flash





	Against Expectations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bright_Elen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bright_Elen/gifts).



Three days. They’ve been stuck in here for three days, four hours and fifty-seven minutes. No window to the simple room, only a grill for ventilation that’s proved useless for anything else, and a heavy door that doesn’t even shift under K-2SO’s applied strength, locked in a way neither he nor Cassian have been able to crack. A light that glows and dims on a regular pattern next to the security camera up in one corner of the ceiling K-2 grew bored of hacking after the first hour – and it only took so long due to the analysis he was also running along with a great number of additional tasks. No weaknesses to the room; Cassian had checked anyway, and then checked again.

“How is it? K-2 keeps his vocabulator low, although Cassian isn’t sleeping. He’s been lying on his side for the past two and a half hours, his head pillowed on K-2’s thigh. K-2 has long corrected the presumption that it must be uncomfortable. Everything about Cassian is uncommonly relaxed, from his hand tucked under his cheek to the breath he lets out as K-2 runs his fingers through the man’s hair, from his forehead to the back of his neck.

“Not bad at all,” Cassian’s answer is a little slow to come, but not from hesitance or even avoidance, and there’s no indication of pain as K-2 brushes very gently over the bruise on his temple.

“Are you hungry?”

Usually he wouldn’t bother to ask Cassian this. Cassian would generally shrug off the enquiry as unimportant or simply fail to respond, although he would usually pick at something if K-2 brought him it, especially if K-2 served it alongside a healthy dose of sarcasm. He’d return the favour often enough for it not to seem like a chore, although K-2 had no intention of letting him know this; Cassian procuring the type of oil K-2 had never outwardly expressed a preference for yet the man had picked up on, tracking it down when there was a shortage. A couple of times recently, he’d offered to help maintain some of K-2’s fiddlier joints, dabbing the oil onto a cloth or a brush but inevitably ending up with it slicking his fingers, frowning very seriously over the task as K-2 examined him and ran countless strands of analysis.

K-2 finds the memory files seeking to replay now, the visual of Cassian’s face calm with concentration, hair falling over his forehead as he bit lightly down on his lip as his hands cradled K-2’s as he worked.

“Not particularly,” Cassian brings his other hand up to rest it just beneath K-2’s knee. K-2’s leaning against the cell wall, plugged into the single power source, his initial annoyance at the unreliability and slowness of the charge lessened in favour of concentrating on Cassian.

Their captors provide food and water twice a day at regular times, neither drugged nor unpalatable, the forcefield that replaces the door when it’s delivered impenetrable from within the cell. Cassian has not been marched out and tortured or even questioned beyond their initial incarceration. K-2 has not been threatened with deactivation. There’s even a small screen for a pretence at privacy, dividing off a section for a shower and toilet, and Cassian’s twice been provided with basic clean clothes.

It’s very likely unpleasantness will come. It’s very likely they’re supposed to slip into false complacency here. K-2 had certainty expected to be undoing his own screws in frustration.

“How’s your hand?” Stirring, Cassian brings his own hand up from K-2’s knee to catch hold of it loosely, inspecting the leftover marking from a blaster bolt.

“Oh, dreadfully painful,” K-2 cheerfully lies, “I’d go so far as to say it’s unbearable.”

“You would, huh,” Cassian’s smile against his fingers is possibly the best thing he’s ever felt.

So. They’re stuck here for however long. Until, it seems, their captors get their heads out of their asses. When they do, he and Cassian will be ready for whatever comes.

Still, as uncharacteristic as it may be of him, K-2 can’t deny the hope that it takes them a while.


End file.
